


Lifelike

by BFWrites



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Agender Character, Identity Issues, Mannequin, Nonbinary Character, Nonverbal Communication, Other, Suicidal Thoughts, as an agender I realize an nb inanimate object isn't great rep but it's a mannequin it's gonna be nb, failing department stores can have a little living mannequin as a treat, i don't plan on any mature content cuz... they're a mannequin, mannequins, rated for mention of sexual organs but i don't plan on any actual sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BFWrites/pseuds/BFWrites
Summary: When a mannequin comes to life in a department store, it changes the course of Jon's life





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I've had sitting in the old noodle for a while. I swear I will continue Living Life to the Fullest; I'm just throwing this out here, too.

They didn't remember when they'd arrived in the Women's section of Pressley's department store. There was no particular moment they remembered waking up to find themselves staring forward at the glass double doors. As far as they knew, they'd always been there, confidently posed with their motionless hands at their equally immobile hips, wearing the latest styles from a mid-range, decreasingly relevant store. 

But if there was a time they distinctly realized their lot in life was unusual, it was when they noticed another being such as themselves out of the corner of their eye. On the edge of the Women's area, near some other section they'd never seen what with their limited movement, another form stood posed, wearing a neon pink sundress and matching hat. This one didn't share their proud stance, but had both arms out, one holding a tan purse. It occurred to them this must be someone else like them. They knew they weren't like the moving ones they saw during the day; the ones who bought clothes and talked to each other or the select few who dressed them every week or so. This being was stationary like them and shared their matte white outer form. 

As soon as they determined this must be one like them, they became excited for the first time... ever, as far as they were aware. They had no way to speak to the moving ones, but perhaps, somehow, this other being like them would know how they could speak. They imagined the other one like them walking up to them, just like the moving ones, and teaching them things: how to speak and who they were and how to move. To move! Surely, they could! After all, they had only ever seen moving ones before. This must be a sign that they were not alone in this store; that they could do something else besides stare at the clothes and the floor and the moving ones day and night.

They waited until the moving ones had left for the day before hoping in earnest that the other one would move. After all, it may be nervous to move or talk around the moving ones. After perhaps half an hour, for they had all the time in the world, there was no movement. They realized the one like them seemed to be faced away from them. That must be it. A new emotion bubbled up in them: frustration. How could they get this one's attention?

They hadn't tried to move or speak before. From the way the moving ones treated them and ignored them, they figured they wouldn't appreciate anything they could say or do. They realized they had to do something to catch the other one's attention. For the first time they could recall, they screamed within their own plastic head "TALK. SAY SOMETHING. SPEAK. PLEASE." Nothing happened. They were honestly shocked. They had assumed they could speak since the moving ones did, but it appeared they were truly built differently from them. They chose the next best option. They wanted to see the other one better. From this view, they could only just see their face and one of their hands in their periphery. Once again, they mentally shouted "MOVE YOUR HEAD. TURN. LOOK." While nothing happened once again, they considered that perhaps they needed to imagine their head turning and so they did. 

With a great creak and a fair amount of pain, their head turned toward the other one. At first, the cracking noise that resounded through their hollow head terrified them. Did they break themselves? Was this the end? After a moment's panic, they realized two things: first, their body often made that noise when one of the moving ones they frequently saw positioned their body to put new clothes on them, and two, they had more of the other one in their sight. It wasn't as much as they had wanted to move, but it was something. They were giddy at this progress. 

There was still no movement from the other one. They tried to tell themselves the other one still couldn't see their new movement. After all, the other one probably only had them in their peripheral vision, too. They needed to make a more visible movement. They imagined their left arm raising as far forward as it would go. Blessedly, this movement felt much easier than their head. When they considered why later, they determined it was because the moving ones positioned their arms much more often than their head. Whatever parts within them that allowed them to move were less stiff in their arms. They felt the air from the vent above them blow onto the now exposed ball joint of their elbow where their plastic form didn't cover. Now, without a doubt, the other one would move.

They stared at the being like them. The being that must be like them. They must have seen the arm. It was right next to where they stared at the cash register. But the other one didn't move. They didn't speak or teach.

It was not like them.

They experienced a slew of new emotions: misery, anger, fear, loneliness. Of them all, the last cut the deepest. Whatever this husk was that they now stared at, it wasn't like them. It had moveable joints like them. If it were really like them, alive like them, it would have responded. They tried telling themselves they were missing something. Maybe it was asleep like one of the moving ones had once done behind the cash register. Maybe it had died like another moving one had done while coming out of the dressing room. But the simplest answer seemed to be the right one: they were alone. A unique being among moving beings and strange facsimiles of them. 

\-------------------------------------

They lost track of the next few days. The experience of that night made them hope they could become like the motionless form they had vainly hoped was their equal. If they could just sink their consciousness into nothingness and be merely a method of selling clothes, that may be for the best. What life could there possibly be now that they'd so desperately hoped and had that hope utterly destroyed?

The only thing that broke the monotony of listless moving ones was someone else behind the register. They had started to notice the moving ones who repositioned them and maintained the department store all wore matching maroon polos and black or gray dress pants. What seemed off about the new moving one shining a flashlight under the register was his outfit: a white, button-up shirt with a piece of plastic showing a tiny image of himself. The most shocking part was the shape of his body. He didn't have the two large bumps they had seen on most if not all of the moving ones they'd seen before. While the bumps tended to have different sizes and shapes, they hadn't seen any moving ones without them. Once, when they'd grown bored at night, they'd looked as far down as their squeaky, stiff neck allowed them to notice they too had these bumps. But here was a moving one without them. Was this one defective? Had he been in some accident?

One of the moving ones who most often dressed them grabbed their purse and started walking toward the entrance. "Just call Janet after the police if you catch them. Oh, and when the heat turns on, it makes this loud whirring noise by the men's bathroom, so don't think that's someone breaking in."

"Yes, ma'am. Night!"

"Night!" With that, the moving one in the maroon polo left and locked the doors. 

This was unprecedented. A moving one here at night? What did he have to do at night? He couldn't buy anything since the cashiers were gone. Would he even know how to dress them if he wasn't used to clothing that accommodated for their bumps? 

It was hard to keep tabs on him as he moved around the store. With no other sounds except occasionally the heat turning on, it was easy to hear his dress shoes tapping against the linoleum. Once, he shined his flashlight at a ceiling panel, getting part of the beam in their eyes. As soon as they had the wherewithal to think of shielding their eyes with their hand, the flashlight was pointed elsewhere. Their new companion walked over by the corner where the unfortunately lifeless husk stood and bent down behind a table covered in jeans. He was down there for quite a while with only his legs sticking out. They knew they could see at least a bit more of him if they leaned forward a bit. Of course, seeing as their waist was very rarely repositioned, their stiff joints only sent them leaning forward by five inches while making a distinct groaning sound. 

They saw the man's legs jolt in fear at the sound their plastic body made. He jumped up and shined his flashlight back at them and grabbed a dark metal object, which he pointed toward them. His eyes darted around them.

For a brief moment, they were scared. The moving ones had never seen them move before. They assumed the moving ones wanted them to be still; to wear their clothes and stand for eternity. Surely breaching this silent contract would prove fatal. But then, they thought back to the past several days. What did it matter if the moving ones caught them? They had nothing to hope for anymore. Let him kill them and end it all.

The man kept his flashlight trained on them as he slowly stepped closer, still tightly gripping the metal object. His eyes widened when he noticed they were in a different position than a minute ago. "Security! Give yourself up!" he yelled as he moved the light around the general area, under clothes racks and tables.

No one appeared. They knew he wasn't talking to them or he would have looked them in the eye. He must have assumed another moving one had hidden and repositioned them when he wasn't looking. There was no point in letting the charade continue. They'd rather get this over and done with. Once more, they moved; this time holding one arm out to the side. This movement was much easier than their hips with no pain to speak of and the only sound being the plastic shells of their lower and upper arm tapping against each other when the elbow joint was fully extended.

The man noticed this and returned the beam of light to them. They had to move again, quickly, before he chalked it up to a moving one once again. As much thought as they had to put into slight movements, this wasn't easy, but desperation bred haste. They tilted their hips back until they were standing straight again. Their recent movement meant a quieter version of the same creaking noise emanated from their joints, through their hollow legs, and to the man's ears. 

\------------------------------

"Fuck!"

It had to be animatronics. Jon had been to Disney World as a kid. He'd seen what technology could do. Why a department store in a rundown mall would have an animatronic mannequin was beyond him, but that must be it.

Still keeping his gun pointed at the robotic form in front of him, he cautiously approached it. It must have a battery or power cord somewhere. He pointed the light down at its feet. They didn't quite touch the ground as the mannequin was held up by a chrome pole that attached to a metal pin in the back of its neck. He saw no cords or cables. Then, it must have a battery pack. Jon shined his flashlight at its back, looking for even the smallest battery. Even if a nine-volt battery had been taped to it, he would be content. And yet, there was nothing. 

With a loud crack, the mannequin turned its head down toward Jon: the most movement it had made near him. He shouted and jumped back, knocking a blouse matching the mannequin's off a nearby rack. Its head turned slightly to follow him where he stood against the wall, his gun shaking in his hand.

Neither of them moved for a full minute. Jon tried to convince himself he had fallen asleep on the job and was having a nightmare. It would make infinitely more sense than whatever the hell was happening now. The idea of this being a dream sparked an idea in him. Jon sighed and looked up at the security cameras in the ceiling. "OK, you got me! Is this a new TruTV show?"

To Jon's dismay, the lights didn't turn on and a hidden camera show host didn't appear to reveal this was all a wacky prank. Instead, the mannequin looked up to the camera with another faint squeaking noise. Trembling, he pointed the light back to the bizarre being next to him. It seemed to notice its silhouette on the wall and looked back to Jon, trying to look over the blinding light. Then, it moved its hand slightly toward him; not enough to touch him, but to indicate it wanted him to come closer.


	2. Chapter 2

The man didn't seem to want to get closer to them even though it was holding out its hand. Wasn't that what they had seen some of the moving ones do? He could at least have the common courtesy to destroy them as they'd hoped. They weren't sure what had to happen for them to be killed, but they were sure he must know. The moving ones controlled them; surely they must know what to do.

"You j-just a robot?"

They pulled their arm back to rest lightly against their side. Clearly, the gesture was lost on him. Curiously, this motion seemed to spur him into approaching them. "What the-do you understand... me?"

He sounded scared. Good. If he was scared of them, he would just kill them and get it over with. If their movement before told him they understood, they'd might as well move again. They chose to nod slightly. Their infrequently used neck joint cracked, making him shake a bit harder, but the pain was worth it. The moving ones seemed to move their heads this way to say yes. Why they did this when most of them were perfectly capable of speech was beyond them. If they could speak, they'd do so with reckless abandon.

The man seemed to realize this angle was awkward, so he walked in front of them, still waving the flashlight up and down their form. Was there something wrong with them? Maybe they were supposed to be lifeless like the other one was. Maybe he would move them in a certain way and they'd lose consciousness forever like they were supposed to. They hoped he found whatever was wrong with them.

"How the... Do you-can you talk?"

What was the other head motion the moving ones did? Oh, yes. They tried to turn their head from side to side as they'd so often seen, but nothing happened. It seemed their joints weren't meant to move that way. Before, they'd turned their head by tilting it up or down, but merely side to side seemed impossible. They chose to move their left arm to the left, then the right, mimicking the side to side motion as much as possible. 

He frowned. "Um... I don't know what you... oh, I got it! Move your hand once for yes, twice for no, O-OK?"

They felt that same emotion from a few days ago rear its ugly head again: hope. Could he really understand them? Could this system work? The hope burned in their empty head. This would just end up like their attempt with the other one. Still, they figured there was no harm. If he killed them in the end, what would it hurt to try? They moved their hand up in one motion, signaling yes.

The man smiled a little, though he still held the black metal object and shook much more than she'd seen the other moving ones. "Good, OK, can you talk?"

Their arm raised down, then up again.

His eyes bugged out. They figured just moving once before was par for the course. By moving twice, it proved this wasn't just mere motion, but understanding. Wait, did this mean he didn't know what they were? "Holy fuck!"

He started pacing along the length of a rack of dresses, putting his gun in its holster and rubbing his hand across his face. "Wow! Fuck, OK, um... what are you?"

At this, he turned toward them. They didn't move. At first, they stayed still because this wasn't a yes or no question, so how could they respond? But then, it occurred to them, even if they'd been able to speak, they didn't know the answer. What were they? Not a moving one. Not like the other one. They simply stared at him, waiting for a question they could answer.

"Oh, right, yes or no. Sorry, um... are you a-a robot or something?"

They faintly recalled several small items kept on the cash register that one of the smaller moving ones had called a robot. She had asked a taller moving one beside her if she could "have the robot, Mommy, please?" The display model had lit up and beeped. They had no lights, they were silent except the discordant noises of their frame when it moved, and they were much larger than the robot. They moved their arm down and up to signal no.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess that makes sense cuz AI's getting better, but why would they make an AI that could answer questions like that but couldn't talk or type or anything and plus you're in a mall and why would they have an AI mannequin in a fucking department store and-"

He seemed to realize he was rambling and looked back up at them. He got as close to them as he had when he was checking them over before. He rapped his hand against their clothed chest, right above their bumps, the sound echoing through their chest and vibrating against whatever held them together. Was he envious of their bumps? They supposed this made sense if he was the only one without them. The man gasped and pulled his hand back.

\-------------------------

He was such a chauvinistic asshole! He meets a nice... mannequin woman who's answered his questions and stayed calm as he held a gun at her and the first thing he does is tap her tit. Well, not on her tit, but close enough that Jon felt like a piece of shit for doing so. Even knowing he hadn't intended it as a sexual action, just as a way of seeing if there were any components inside her, he still felt disgusting. "I'm so sorry! I'm... are you OK? D-Did that hurt or anything?"

She moved her hand up and down for "no."

"Good, good. I am sorry though. I didn't mean it like... like that. I'm just... so if you're not a robot, then you're... you're a living mannequin?"

It didn't respond immediately, but after a few seconds, it motioned "yes."

"Fuck...! Well, not 'fuck' as in that's bad or you're bad. You're... um, it's fine that you're... like that," Jon stammered. The more he thought about this entire interaction, the worse he felt. He essentially came in here and threatened this innocent... being and was potentially giving it a complex. He wanted to be supportive, though supporting a living mannequin was certainly new territory.

Then, another potential idea hit him and his heart sank. "Were you... are you a... person-or, well, a dead person-that's like possessing a mannequin?"

It replied with a silent "no."

Jon sighed in relief. "Good! So then, I guess you're just... you're a mannequin that's just conscious?"

"Yes," it waved.

"Oh, I don't mean 'just a mannequin!' Cuz you're... you know, you're fine, like I said! It's not like it'd be better if you were a person stuck in a mannequin. Not to say you're not a person now! Cuz you're talking to me-well, communicating anyway! So this is all... good."

For the second time that night, Jon thought he was about to die, though this time, it was from embarrassment. He really wasn't handling whatever this all was very well. "Do the employees know you're... alive?"

\---------------------

They started moving their arm to say "yes." Of course they knew. Everyone knew. This was just their lot in life and the moving ones knew this. But then, they remembered this man in front of them clearly hadn't known. And if he was asking if the others knew, in all likelihood, they didn't. 

The moving ones didn't know they were alive.

It took all their strength to merely raise their arm up again to signal "no" instead of thrashing it around in anger. They didn't know?! All this time, when the moving ones changed their clothes and moved their arms and sold things around them and locked up the store, they didn't know a living being was there with them? How couldn't they know? If they didn't know, it meant this wasn't their purpose. The moving ones didn't place them there knowing a living soul was fulfilling some task they set before it. For all they knew, this was an item used to display other items. The cashier could've sold them for all they cared. 

They wanted to run down the linoleum pathway that flowed through the store. They'd seen irate moving ones stomp back and forth down it, demanding something called a "refund." They knew the movement tended to calm them down. They looked as far down as they could at the ground, which was only about to the man's waist. They knew their legs didn't touch the ground like the moving ones' did, but they still kicked their legs out in their slow, clunky way, one at a time. Their feet only managed to get a few inches out and the pain almost made them reconsider, but they were too angry at the world to care. The sound of their rarely-used legs creaking as they futilely kicked only served to fuel their frustration. The man's joints didn't crack at his every movement. He could run and crawl and move all kinds of ways so fluidly. 

The man stepped forward and placed his arms around their chest, patting their back. They stopped kicking, not that it would've gone far enough to kick his legs or hurt him even if it did. They remembered the small moving ones making this kind of contact with their taller companions when they were given a particularly good item or they became scared. The man must be trying to comfort them. This was what that felt like? Not only could this moving one communicate with them-however limited-but he could comfort them in their pain?

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have asked that! I should've realized they wouldn't... I mean, why would they have you here if-"

Suddenly, a series of beeps echoed from the entrance. The man quickly pulled out of the hug and looked toward the doors. They knew these beeps always sounded when the large moving one came in to open the store. The man didn't seem to know this routine. There was still a little time, as the other moving one had to move the large metal shutters and unlock the door. 

He looked back to them. They continued staring at him, wanting the hug to continue. Why did he stop? Couldn't he tell the others they were alive? Couldn't he explain it all and teach them all how to communicate with them? "I have to go, but I'm coming back tonight. Just-Just don't move around them, OK? They might get scared."

As much as that made sense to them, knowing how the man had reacted to seeing them move, they wanted to fight against it. They wanted to move their arm up and down in front of the moving one who changed their clothes; to say "no, I am alive." But the man listened to them and comforted them. The other moving ones may not react so kindly. While they had fully intended to end their miserable existence at the hands of this man, they now had someone to communicate with. They needed to see where this went. It moved its arm down once in the affirmative.

The maroon-shirted employee started lifting the squeaky metal shutters to the store. The man glanced over and stepped slightly closer to the entrance while still facing them. "Get back to how you looked before. I promise I'll be back."

They acquiesced, even managing to move both arms at the same time to return them to their hips. They listened to the man's footsteps as he approached the doors. After half a minute, they heard him say to the other moving one, "Morning!"

"Morning! Any developments?"

"No, nothing-nothing unusual. I'll be back tonight to keep watch though. We'll catch them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have a great place to end this section


	3. Chapter 3

When Jon woke up at 3 pm, he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the clock. He had seven hours til he had to be back to Pressley's.

Pressley's.

The events of the early morning flooded back into his mind. He hadn't caught a shoplifter or seen anything suspicious, but he did find... a new form of life? Or perhaps just a gas leak. That made much more sense than what his senses told him; that he'd had limited conversation with a mannequin. Jon knew he hadn't fallen asleep on the job. He hadn't sat down the entire time. It couldn't be a dream. 

But if it wasn't a dream, what did this mean? This being... woman... whatever she was was alone in a department store, alive for some reason. Were the other mannequins alive? Maybe she had been the only one brave enough to reach out? Was Pressley's cursed or built on a mass grave or run by masters of the occult? Jon had to assume the mannequin wasn't evil; she could barely move and hadn't given any indication she wanted to harm him. When he asked her if the employees knew she was alive, she'd seemed genuinely... upset. More than upset: enraged, hurt, scared. He couldn't begin to imagine what she was going through, but he had to think realizing you're being kept hostage by minimum wage workers who don't know you're a person would make him lose his mind. 

Jon sat up and grabbed a shirt from his dresser. He distantly remembered he needed to get groceries today. It seemed ridiculously trivial at this point. He knew a sapient mannequin was essentially being held captive at a store and he was going to buy cereal? Jon reasoned that if this was all somehow a dream or the result of some chemicals being pumped through Pressley's, he'd at least have accomplished his goals for the day and would return to the store tonight to find perfectly normal, stationary mannequins. 

But over the course of the next half an hour as he got dressed, grabbed a bagel, and got in his car to go to the supermarket, Jon's conscience weighed on him. What if this was real? What if he came back to the store and this poor woman was still there, reaching her creaking hand out to him, trying to communicate with him as much as her stiff body allowed? He needed to make it easier for her. Yes and no questions could only get them so far. He didn't know exactly how many nights Pressley's would pay him to walk around their store at night, looking for shoplifters he knew didn't exist. Jon and the security company he worked for knew from the moment they got the call that a Pressley's employee was the thief. The circumstances all added up. He'd even told the store manager, who had brushed it off as preposterous. Her employees were hard-working and loyal. They would never steal thousands of dollars of appliances. Jon's boss had told him if they insisted on having their firm snoop around an empty store for eight hours for no reason, they were happy to oblige for the money.

Eventually, however, Pressley's would get frustrated and stop paying for additional nights. Once that happened, that was it for the mannequin. Jon couldn't very well talk to her with employees and shoppers around and she certainly couldn't move then either. Whatever he was going to do to help her, however exactly she wanted to be helped, he needed to do it soon. For now, though, he needed to come up with a way she could say more to him than yes and no. 

As Jon walked down the aisles of Shop n Save, he considered what she could use to communicate. Could she read? He doubted it. If she wasn't a person trapped in a mannequin, he had to assume she'd never learned to read while stuck staring across the Women's section. That removed the option of having her type or even pointing to words on a paper. Jon remembered seeing people with limited speech who couldn't read use electronic boards with images on them that they could press to communicate. Of course, considering his salary, Jon lamented that there was no way he could save up enough money to buy one in the limited time he had. 

Still, the concept could work. He could at least put images on a piece of paper she could point at. As Jon neared the office section of the store, he picked up a few things, grinning to himself.

\---------------------------

As Pressley's opened for yet another day, they weren't sure what to feel. On the one hand, they were elated. A moving one had spoken to them! He seemed concerned about them and had even embraced them. And he had said he would return tonight. 

But on the other hand, the man's absence brought the early morning's revelation into sharper focus. They were alone.

They had already known they were the only one like them in the store. The failed interaction with the other one had proven that. But they had always assumed the moving ones knew what they were. They were just a part of the store. They worked like the other employees did. They never spoke to each other, but they knew they couldn't speak, so surely, the moving ones knew this, too. Now, the illusion was shattered. The employees and customers assumed they were like the other one near them: inanimate, lifeless, a prop. They didn't communicate because they assumed there was nothing to communicate to. 

They briefly considered ignoring the man's request and moving anyway. They could just show one or two other moving ones, if for no other reason than to prove they were alive; that they had hung there watching them work for so long and they should have known. But they kept reminding themselves the man was probably a fluke. They had assumed he would kill them and it was very possible the employees would do so without hesitation. Besides, even if the other moving ones didn't kill them, they may hide them. Then, they would never see the man again. The thought terrified them. The man was quickly becoming the only thing they could rely on. As little interaction as they'd had with him, it was the only interaction they'd had with anyone. He was everything.

As the hours ticked down until he returned, they tried to think of ways they could communicate more effectively. They still couldn't speak. They were confident enough that this was impossible that they tried when relatively few employees and shoppers were around. A bolt of inspiration hit them as they remembered a few moving ones they had seen once who moved their fingers and hands to communicate with each other. One of them spoke to the cashier while the others only moved their hands at each other and moved their mouths silently. Perhaps they could do this with the man.

But their hope faded quickly. They couldn't risk moving their hands up from their hips, but they knew they were immobile. Each hand was a single piece of hollow plastic with faint indentations to mimic fingers and fingernails. The vaguely moving-one-shaped frame within them ended in a small ball inside the hollow form of each hand. Even if they could somehow move their arms quickly enough to simulate how those moving ones communicated, there was no way they could convey as many thoughts. 

Still, their limited conversation was still conversation. It was a way to indicate what they wanted, what they needed, in however tiny a way. Even if this was all they got from the man, it was still more than they'd ever received. It occurred to them they had no real goals in communicating with the man. They couldn't think of anything they wanted that he could give them. He couldn't make them speak or move any more than they could. He couldn't speak to them any longer than he did the last time. They simply wanted... company.

\-------------------

"Evenin'!" called the manager on duty to Jon.

Jon nodded. "Evenin'. Any new developments since last night?"

"No, the thief didn't take anything today. Still no leads."

Jon hummed and spotted something curious on the ceiling tiles. "Wait, you guys have cameras?"

The manager followed his gaze and laughed. "We did! They stopped working... I don't know, 5 years ago? We asked corporate for money to upgrade the system or at least fix it, but they said it wasn't worth it. We keep them there to ward off shoplifters."

"Seems like it's working, huh?" murmured Jon.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The manager opened one of the double doors and grabbed a keyring from his pocket. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. Let me know if you catch anybody!"

"Will do," replied Jon as the other man closed the door and started the process of locking up.

Jon ambled over to the left toward the Women's section. He wanted to run over and immediately ask, "Are you real? Was last night real?" but the manager was still locking up. He was lucky the camera system was broken. For a split second, he'd feared there was video evidence of him talking to a mannequin and, what's worse, the mannequin responding. Pressley's negligence worked in Jon's favor.

By the time he approached his new friend, he heard the manager's whistling fade down out as he exited to the parking lot. Jon froze. Here he was, back at the living mannequin's side. She was posed the same confident way she had been when he'd first viewed her yesterday. The store hadn't yet changed her outfit from the red blazer and white shirt she wore before. Jon was in her field of vision. Was she waiting for him to make the first move?

He felt profoundly stupid. It had just been a dream, right? Now that he was standing here, staring at a mannequin, it seemed obvious. That couldn't have happened. Still, he was here. Jon had to give it a shot. "H-Hi?"

For a moment, the quiet stillness of the store was unbroken. It was just long enough for Jon to look down, ready to continue his hours long patrol. Then, he heard a tell-tale creek from the mannequin.

\------------------------

They mimicked the hand motion they'd seen the moving ones do to greet each other. They would often say "hello" or, as the man did, "hi," accompanied by waving their hand back and forth in the air. It wasn't the easiest motion for their tough joints, but they thought the effect came through.

The man stepped back in shock and gulped. He didn't look quite as scared as last night; this was a mixture of excitement, surprise, joy, and still a sheen of fear. "So you are real?"

It was their turn to be shocked. Yes, of course they were real. They proved that last night. Maybe he really was defective. He had no bumps and he could very well have memory problems. Still, they wanted to support him, so they moved their arm up once to say "yes." They hoped he would at least remember their system from last night.

He grinned. "Good... good. Oh, I brought something to help you... talk-well, not talk exactly, but communicate. I left it in my car. I'll be right back."

The man went back the way he came, not quite running, but still hurrying. They couldn't imagine what he could possibly have to help them communicate. Soon enough, he ran back to them, carrying a large piece of paper and a pen in his hands. "Sorry, I couldn't risk having to explain it to the manager."

He held up the paper to reveal it was printed with a grid of squares with writing and images inside them. They understood that these lines conveyed information-they had seen customers hand slips of paper to the cashier, who stared at it and gleaned information from the lines-but they had no idea what the squiggles meant. "It's a communication board. Some autistic people and people with other disabilities use them to communicate. I thought maybe you could point at what you wanted to say?"

Their neck joint groaned as they leaned forward slightly to see the grid better. While there was still some sunlight streaming through the double doors, it was too dark to see the images on the paper clearly. As they strained to interpret the images, they managed to spot a square with a lightbulb in it. They moved their right hand up and tapped the tip of their hand where an index finger would be to that square. The man's gaze followed their hand. He smacked himself in the head and sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. One second."

Turning on his flashlight, the man walked over to the nearby wall and placed it on its side on a shelf between two stacks of jeans. The beam of light illuminated their area. As soon as the man came back, he seemed to realize the gravity of what had just happened. "It worked! You saw the lightbulb and you-this is awesome!"

He smiled from ear to ear and rushed forward, gripping them in a tight hug. While their plastic shell had no feeling in it, the gentle pressure and the knowledge the man was happy made them even happier to receive a hug than they were yesterday. They moved their arms off their hips and started to approach the man's back when he pulled back.

\--------------------

"I'm sorry!" 

Once again, Jon was being a creep. Even if he didn't intend his hug to come off that way, here he was embracing this woman who couldn't get away or stop him if she wanted. She had moved her arms a bit after he started. Had she been trying to push him off?

The mannequin left her arms where they were slightly raised in the air where they'd just been about to touch Jon's hips. She then moved her right arm toward the paper, as if waiting for something. Jon looked down at the paper still in his hand that was now too far away for her to touch. He stretched his hand out and waited for her next move. After a moment, she pressed the end of her hand to a square. 

Jon looked down and frowned. As unwieldy as her hand was considering she had no distinct fingers, it was hard to tell which square she intended. "Um, I can't tell if you're pointing to 'happy' or 'tired.' Do you mean... happy?"

She moved her left hand up once. Jon sighed. "Good! Oh-so, you mean you like me... hugging you?"

The mannequin's hand went back down, indicating "yes."

Jon blushed and looked at a nearby skirt like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Oh, um, good! I said 'sorry' before cuz I wasn't sure if you were OK with that. You know, since you can't... move much."

He looked at the mannequin's feet where they hung a few inches off of the thin carpet, then back up to her face. "You... you can't get down from there, can you?" Jon asked quietly. 

She stayed still for a moment, seemingly thinking, then bent her right hand at the elbow and moved it back toward her neck as far as it could as if she were tepidly raising her hand in class. Jon tilted his head, confused by this motion, until he remembered what he saw of her yesterday before she revealed herself as alive. He walked up to her right side and looked at the metal pin at the base of her neck. It was an inch thick and had a washer that connected her to the metal pole that held her up. Being a bit more considerate than last time, Jon asked, "Is it OK if I touch this?"

\------------------

They weren't sure why the man asked them if he could touch them. The moving ones never asked them before dressing and repositioning them. Of course, they remembered, the moving ones didn't know they were alive. They had to keep reminding themselves the fiction they had created for themselves was fiction. The moving ones saw them as merely an item. Well, all the moving ones except this one.

They lifted their hand up once. They were used to being touched, and, besides, the man had been very concerned she hadn't wanted him to hug them earlier, so they doubted he would try to hurt them. 

It seemed the man needn't have asked permission to touch them as they didn't feel a thing. After a minute, they were about to reach over to try to instruct him to bring the paper over when he said, "There's a washer back here that connects you to this metal pole. It's too tight for me to just use my hands to loosen it."

The man walked back in front of them. They hadn't known what exactly was keeping them off the ground, just that something extended out of the center of their head toward the back. It hadn't been a concern before. This was just how things were; they hung off the ground. The man looked concerned. "Do you... does it hurt to hang on that?"

They lowered and raised their hand to say "no." The man sighed in relief. "Great! Well, not great exactly. I mean, you're still stuck on that. Actually, I guess I should ask cuz maybe you're OK with that and I'm just pushing something on you, but... do you want to get down? To get out of this store?"

Out of the store? Where was out of the store? Was there somewhere that wasn't Pressley's? They supposed there must be. They knew the customers and employees didn't live there. Certainly, they were all gone at night. But even so, even if the moving ones could be somewhere other than Pressley's, could they? As far as they knew, this was the only place they'd ever been. What would they do in another place? Would it be another store? Would they have different moving ones dressing them in different clothes? 

As they stayed still, considering the implications of the man's proposal, he seemed to understand they may need more information. "You could come with me. I could... you could come to my house or-or somewhere else, if there's anywhere else you want to go."

They could come with the man? To his house? They knew they had heard the word 'house' before. They remembered hearing an employee tell a customer she could go to Housewares for a certain item and another asking another employee to come to her house for a party. It must be a building other than a store; one owned by the person. So this man had a house, and he wanted them to now live in this house. Admittedly, for a moment, they were nervous. They only had the faintest idea of what a house was, let alone what was in this particular man's house. But it occurred to them, what did they have going for them at Pressley's? Yesterday, they'd hoped this man would kill them; that they could end the monotony and loneliness of hanging still with no one to communicate to. If they revealed themselves to another moving one, they would likely destroy them. 

Plus, the man had been kind to them. He had hugged them, comforted them when he knew they were upset, cared about their thoughts and feelings. While they had never communicated to another living soul besides him, they had witnessed many moving ones who seemed much more callous or cruel than he had been. They had to believe going with the man would be better for them than remaining at Pressley's at the very least. Finally, they raised their right hand to answer "yes."

\------------------

Jon smiled. On the way home, he would realize he wasn't entirely sure why a mannequin wanting to live in his house made him smile. He supposed he smiled because he was helping a helpless person; someone otherwise entirely alone. Then, he remembered what they'd just finished discussing. He sighed. "The only thing is I need a wrench to get that washer off. The maintenance room is locked or I'd grab one from there, and I don't have one with me. I can bring one tomorrow though."

The mannequin moved her hand to the paper once more, her chunky hand pointing at either 'happy' or 'am.' Jon snapped his fingers, remembering what he'd brought for just this problem. He grabbed the pen from his pocket. "It's still kinda hard to tell what you're pointing at, but I brought a pen. You can hold it to-"

She waved her left hand back and forth to say "no." Jon's eyebrows furrowed. "You don't want to hold it? Or-"

His eyes caught her outstretched hand. He saw the faint indentations that suggested fingers and a separate, equally immobile thumb. Whatever frame inside her that somehow allowed her to move didn't include individual fingers. "You can't hold it. Shit! I'm sorry. I should've thought of that. Wait! One second!"

Jon rushed to the nearby checkout area and opened the drawers and cabinets under the counter, searching. Eventually, he found it: a roll of tape. He returned triumphant to the mannequin, who leaned forward to try to see what he held. "I can tape the pen to your hand so you can use it to point at the squares! I mean... if you're OK with me taping something to you."

If this relationship continued much longer, Jon figured he'd be saying many more preposterous sentences in the foreseeable future. Still, the mannequin had no qualms about this and raised her hand in the affirmative. Jon smirked and pulled off a piece of tape. Positioning the closed pen in her hand around where the index finger would be, Jon pressed the tape to the pen and plastic hand above it. He stepped back, pleased with himself at his ingenuity. Holding up the paper once more, he said, "Is it OK if I bring a wrench to move you tomorrow?"

The mannequin moved her newly-improved hand toward the paper a bit more gently than she had before. The pen tip clearly touched the smiling face in the 'happy' square. "Great! Oh, I almost forgot, are the other mannequins in here alive, too?"

She didn't move for a few seconds. Jon could tell she was unsure. He looked down at the paper. If she didn't know, why didn't she just point at the 'confused' square with a stick figure shrugging. Then, looking back up at her, it dawned on him; she almost surely couldn't read. She knew 'happy' and maybe some other emotions from facial expressions, but shrugging and other less obvious verbs and nouns probably didn't make sense to her. "This one," Jon pointed to the 'confused' square. "Means confused or 'I don't know.'"

Immediately, she tapped that square.

Jon gulped. Driving one mannequin out of here was already going to be challenging enough in his tiny car. If all the mannequins in the department store were sapient, he wasn't sure what he'd do. "I'm gonna go see if any of them move, OK? I'll be right back."

After grabbing the flashlight from where he'd left it, Jon walked the short distance to a mannequin in a pink sundress by the cash register. "Are you awake?" he asked. He knew he shouldn't feel embarrassed, considering the only witness to this was a living mannequin, but his brain didn't see it that way. Sure enough, this mannequin didn't move an inch. He moved on through the rest of the store, down the Men's, Juniors, Children, and Swimwear areas. Jon lost count of how many mannequins he questioned in that time, but it had to be at least 15. He even tried the ones that were just a calf and foot modeling shoes; he figured he couldn't be too careful. Not one of them reacted. After making sure he'd reached all of them, he made his way back to the living one.

Jon wasn't quite sure what tone to take with his new... friend? He supposed she may have hoped at least one other mannequin such as herself was out there, but she was alone. Or else she may be thrilled that no one else has to suffer, hanging from a metal pole for however long to show off clothing for an indifferent public. He cleared his throat as he approached her. "The, um, the other mannequins aren't alive. I'm... I'm sorry?"

The mannequin didn't point to the outstretched paper for several seconds. It merely turned its head up and to the left, its neck joint squeaking with a horrible noise, trying to see as far over its shoulder as it could. He couldn't imagine what it was thinking, but he was sure the knowledge it was unique elicited some strong emotion in it. Finally, it turned its head back to face forward and moved its right hand to point the pen at the square for 'sad.'


	4. Chapter 4

When Jon pulled into the driveway, he yawned. Spending an entire night talking to a mannequin was exhausting. He wasn't the best in social situations with humans; conversation with a mannequin was even more alien to him. The content of their conversation was also draining. He spent some time going over very basic concepts about the outside world: what a house was, what a car was, some jobs people did. Jon also tried to teach her the meaning of some of the verb squares where the picture didn't make it clear: think, talk, sleep. He figured this may have been futile, seeing as she wouldn't have any time to review it while she sat still in the store one more day.

He looked back to the cramped back seat of his small car. If at least 2 people could fit back there, he supposed she could, but then again, she didn't seem very flexible. She could move her arms, head, and hips at the very least, but were her legs bendable? She was in a standing position affixed to the pole. Could she even sit? He had to hope so or he wasn't sure how he could get her out of the store. While he may be able to walk the distance from Pressley's to his house, it was a long enough walk on a busy enough road that a cop would surely stop him and put him in the drunk tank if they saw him walking home carrying a mannequin.

Grabbing the communication paper and folding it in half, Jon got out of his car and went through the front door. His roommate, Steven, was a good friend and fairly chill, if not eccentric, but he didn't want to risk him seeing the paper and wondering what it was for. He surely wouldn't have a need to talk to many people while out in the field as a security guard, so the paper would seem suspicious. Jon wasn't sure he could trust Steven with knowledge about his new mannequin friend. For starters, she'd have to be here in the flesh (or plastic) for Steven to believe him at all. Otherwise, he would surely assume Jon needed psychiatric help. If it hadn't been for all the evidence Jon had touched, seen, and heard, he'd think the same.

As tired as Jon was, the sight that greeted him inside woke him right up. In the living room, Steven was doing a headstand with his feet balanced against the wall and Fleetwood Mac playing in the background. This wasn't especially unusual for Steven. What made it unique was he was entirely nude. Jon cried out and shielded his eyes with the folded up paper. "Man! What the hell are you doing?"

Jon quickly closed the door, not wanting to scar any neighbors for life. Steven opened his eyes and smiled. "Morning! Just stretching! Ya know, headstands promote blood flow and help wake you up."

"Well, I'm definitely awake now. Why don't you do that in your room? You knew I was getting off of work now!" said Jon, passing his naked friend and grabbing an apple from the fridge.

Steven finally kicked off the wall, letting his feet fall over his head and onto the floor, then sprung up, sending his various bits springing along with him. "Jon, you need to loosen up. I told you you should've taken that drawing class with me in college. Once you draw a nude model, all those hang ups just melt away. That's what my next piece for the gallery's gonna be: Nudity Desconstruc-"

"Steve, I worked all night and I'm really tired. Can this wait?" said Jon, rubbing his eyes and trudging toward his room.

"No problem, dude. Nigh-well... morning!"

Jon smirked and went into his room, murmuring, "Morning."

\-------------------

The second day after meeting Jon was much easier to handle than the first. They had so much more to ponder and go over that the tedium of watching customers shop near them and employees restock the shelves was somehow less tedious.

For instance, they now knew his name: Jon. They supposed the employees and customers must have names, too. They vaguely recalled employees asking for a customer's name if they were picking up something on layaway. They had never known any of their names since they hadn't needed to. Knowing Jon's name felt intimate, like it was some secret knowledge they shouldn't have. He even told them the name of another man who lived with him, a roommate he called him: Steven. They hadn't even met this other man, but they knew his name. 

And now they had confirmation that they were the only living mannequin. They hadn't expected a reaction from the other one across from them since they hadn't gotten one themselves, but when Jon said he'd check out the others, they felt a flicker of hope. They hadn't known whether there were any other mannequins in the store besides them and the other one. Even though they knew their hope was likely to be dashed, that knowledge couldn't prevent the feeling from arising. And, of course, Jon returned news of what they feared: the others weren't alive. It occurred to them that before the promise of the other one being a possible companion, they hadn't cared about being the only one of their kind. They had been content to hang from the pole and be dressed and adjusted occasionally. It was only once the potential was there and taken from them that they felt cheated.

But they had Jon now. Jon wasn't a mannequin, he was a moving one, but he could understand them. They had reached out to him, and he had responded. So very soon, he would bring them to his house. He had explained what a house was to an extent. Some of the words went over their head, but they had a general idea. It was a store, but there were no customers. Jon and Steven were presumably the employees, but they simply maintained the house for themselves, not to attract others to buy things from their house. 

Jon would have to remove them from the pole to bring them to his house. They hadn't really known it was possible for them to be removed from the pole. They had always felt the metal pin sticking into the base of their neck through the parts inside of them they could feel, but they assumed this was just part of them. Jon had said he could use a certain tool to remove the pin and set them on the ground. He thought they may be able to walk. 

It was hard not to kick their legs in excitement during the day at the idea of walking. They supposed the concept thrilled them so much because it was something the moving ones did. That was, after all, the primary difference between themselves and the moving ones; they moved. They traveled to all kinds of places and bent down to reach things. Being able to walk or even just move without being tethered to one place was their newfound dream. Naturally, seeing how far hope had gotten them thus far, doubts popped up. What if they were in so much pain after the pin was removed that they couldn't go on; that they had to be put back on the pole and left alone forever? What if their legs were so weak from hardly being used that the instant they put weight on them, they crumpled, leaving them just as immobile as they were now? What if Jon forgot about them or lost his job or died and they were left here on their pole with no one to communicate to?

They told themselves to hope anyway. To remember that Jon had promised them he would get them out of here. As long as he came through, no matter what else happened, they would be out of Pressley's at the very least. 

\-------------------------

When Jon walked into the back entrance to Pressley's, he could immediately tell something was different about the store, but he couldn't tell what. It was as if there was something missing. He still saw plenty of clothing racks and shelves full of appliances and kitchenware. The cashier stations were all as they had been. By the time he reached the manager who was closing up for the night, he still didn't know precisely what was missing. "Evening," Jon said to the other man.

"Evenin'."

"Is something different with the store from yesterday?"

"Different? Well, we got rid of the mannequins."

Jon's heart sank. He tried as hard as he could to hide it, but he was sure the manager saw his eyes bulge out. "Got rid of them? You-They're gone already?"

The man tilted his eyebrow in confusion. "Yeah... someone's finishing loading them up in the front."

Jon started walking toward the front of the store as quickly as he dared to avoid suspicion. He managed to sputter out something about checking the movers out to make sure they weren't stealing. How could he be so stupid? He'd just looked over every single mannequin in the store early that morning. How did he not notice they were all gone? He prayed the truck was still there.

Blessedly, it was. Two naked mannequins hung from their respective poles behind the open back door of the moving truck. The remaining dozen or so were already loaded in the back. A man who looked fresh out of high school was filling out a piece of paper on a clipboard next to the remaining mannequins. Jon approached him and tried to remain calm. "Are you taking these mannequins somewhere?"

The younger man looked up from the clipboard and frowned. "Yeah."

"I need to... inspect them first. Make sure there's no tracking... things on them. There've been thefts recently."

Jon was well aware his boss would have his hide if he knew he was revealing the fact he was investigating thefts at Pressley's to some third party mover, but he didn't care. He needed to find the living one and save them somehow. 

Fortunately, the mover was being paid by the hour, so letting Jon make his "inspection" worked in his favor. "Sure. Let me know when you're done."

"Thanks," muttered Jon as he walked up the ramp into the truck. 

Since the sun was nearly set, the inside of the truck was nearly pitch black. Jon turned on his flashlight and shined it at the mannequins before him. Even though he knew only one of them was alive and that one was friendly, the image of several mannequins in a dark truck sent a shiver up his spine. Jon turned back to the outside, checking to see if the mover was looking inside. He wasn't; he had chosen to text his girlfriend during his downtime. Still, Jon couldn't exactly ask his new friend to reveal herself without getting some very odd looks from the other man. How was he going to find her?

Since roughly half of the mannequins were facing the open door, Jon waved his hand in the air, hoping she would get the hint and wave back. None of them moved. Was she just too scared to move with the other man there? He had to hope she wasn't one of these. Jon brushed past several mannequins, trying to get to the back of the truck so he could wave once more at some facing the front of the truck. Just as he was about to reach it, he felt a pen poke him in the side. He couldn't help letting out a gasp.

Jon turned to face one of the mannequins. He was never more thankful for taping the pen to her hand, since it was proof positive this was her. He was also glad Pressley's employees apparently weren't attentive enough to notice this new accessory. Jon positively beamed at his friend and put his hand on her arm. He whispered, "Hi! I'm gonna get you out, OK? Just don't move until I say so. Please."

Approaching the ramp again, Jon's brain raced to find an excuse to take the mannequin. What could he possibly say? 'My inspection turned up a bug planted on this one. I need to confiscate it'? 'You're not gonna miss one of these, right'? He realized mentioning an investigation meant it could very well come back to him later. The mover could tell the manager who could ask whatever happened to the mannequin and could they have it back? His boss could ask for a report on what he found. It was too much to make up. The mover certainly wouldn't just let him take her. Then, Jon determined the perfect idea. It made him gag, but it was perfect.

"Do you think if you came into a bit of cash, you could maybe lose one of these mannequins?"

The mover slowly looked up from his phone, smirking. "I knew it! I knew you weren't inspecting them! You're sick, man!"

Jon couldn't deny it if he wanted the gambit to work. "Everyone's got their vices. So how much would it take to let one go?"

The younger man looked up into the air as if calculating something. "Well, stuff gets lost all the time, so it's nothing too concerning..., but then again, these things aren't cheap, even if they are older and squeaky as hell, so I'll probably be docked some pay for it. I'd need that amount, plus 10%."

"How much?"

"$1,000."

Jon gasped. "$1,000! For a mannequin?!"

"Man, it comes with a stand and everything! And like I said, that's what I'll get docked plus 10%. Take it or leave it."

Jon floundered. He certainly didn't have that kind of money on him. He had perhaps $80 in his wallet. "I have $80 on me, but would you take a check for the rest?"

"A check?" the man laughed and snorted. "Fuck no! Cash or no deal."

Jon sighed. He had maybe a few dollars more than $1,000 between his checking and savings accounts. Of course, this mover didn't seem to have a card reader on him for his mannequin selling services. "What if I give you the $80, you follow me to the Quicky Gas, and I pull out the other $920 there at the ATM?"

The mover sighed. "Fine."

Jon made to go back into the truck, but the other man cleared his throat. Jon turned back around. "No doll til I get the whole thousand."

\------------------------

They had never been more terrified. Even when there was a distinct possibility Jon was going to kill them that first night, they still hadn't been as scared as they were in the back of the truck. They'd got to experience the world outside of Pressley's for a brief moment before being stuffed into a dark truck. And there around them were the other mannequins. They had seen the other one and known it was an item, but seeing the others all together made the past couple days hit home: they were alone. Even if Jon somehow rescued them, they wouldn't find another being like themselves.

These figures crammed in the dark with them were things. While they hadn't seen enough of their own body to know for certain, they understood they must look similar to these lifeless forms. They tried desperately to think of the various other ways in which their current predicament was worse than the knowledge that they were both the same and entirely different from the mannequins they were stuck with, but it was a challenge.

And then they heard Jon's voice. They were turned toward the front of the truck, so they couldn't see him, but they knew his voice. They wanted to wave their hand like he had waved to them the second night, to tell him exactly where they were, but they heard him talking to the moving one who had put them in the truck. A sinking feeling hit them; Jon couldn't see which mannequin they were. They were an item, more or less. There was precious little to distinguish them from their still siblings.

Finally, Jon brushed past them and they jabbed their hand at his side. He grinned at them and a weight was lifted from their plastic shoulders. As dire as the situation was, they still wanted Jon to hug them once again; to comfort them and make them feel alive. Instead, he soon turned back to the moving one outside and they spoke to each other. At first, they weren't quite sure what Jon was suggesting. Then, they heard the word 'dollars' and their experience in Pressley's told them all they needed to know. 

Jon was buying them.

For a split second, they were happy. This meant Jon could bring them to his house, and they could start a new life. But then, the implications set in. They were being purchased. Jon was paying for them like a customer would pay for a shirt. He had reviewed the moving one's selection of mannequins and made his choice. They still knew Jon was kind; that he was helping them when he didn't need to. But the notion that he was buying them, that for all intents and purposes he would own them, made the truth of their existence sting all the more. The moving ones only saw them as a commodity. They could only hope that Jon didn't see them that way and wouldn't come to if he did manage to free them.

\-----------------------------

"960, 980, 1,000. Pleasure doing business with ya! I'll open up the truck and you take your pick."

Despite knowing the true intentions of this purchase, Jon couldn't help but feel sleazy. Objectively, he had just paid a man for a mannequin to keep in his room. He was glad the driver didn't just take off the moment they pulled out of the parking lot of Pressley's. It was a real possibility. When he saw the truck in his rear view mirror as he turned onto the freeway toward the gas station, Jon had felt elated. 

He was less elated at the price tag. Between rent and necessities, plus a recent car repair, he was going to be eating meagerly til the next paycheck. But as he approached the now open back of the truck, thoughts of his financial situation melted away. He was going to rescue his newfound... friend?

The other man hadn't been kind enough to move the ramp out, so Jon pulled it out with a great clanging noise. He hoped the gas station's cashier didn't look outside to see him cram a mannequin into his car. Jon walked up the ramp and over to where he remembered the living mannequin was, placing his hand on hers. The reality of the situation dawned on him; he would have to carry her out. Obviously, the driver and possibly a Pressley's employee had put her in the truck to begin with, but they hadn't known they were handling a living being. He knew he had no other choice, seeing as she was still connected to her metal pole and the driver would piss himself if he saw a mannequin traipse out of the back of his truck; still, it felt awkward.

Jon whispered, not knowing whether the other man could hear him through the cab of the truck. "I'm gonna bring you to my car, OK?"

She moved her left hand up to signal 'yes.' 

Placing his arms around her hips, Jon lifted her up. He hadn't known how much the typical mannequin weighed, so he hadn't known how much of a challenge this would be. She ended up being a light 40 pounds or so. As careful as he tried to be, he heard a couple hollow-sounding bops as his passenger's plastic hands accidentally smacked some of her old companions' bodies. He whispered "sorry" at each tap. Once Jon got them to the passenger's side door, he discovered a new problem: the metal pole.

Since the metal held her up at an average person's height, there was no way she'd fit in his backseat with her still attached to it. If Jon had a roomier sedan, he may have been able to lay her on her side across the seat, but as it stood, he couldn't close both doors if she laid in there. Mercifully, the driver hadn't left yet. Jon sighed and yelled to him "Hey, could you help me get her off the pole?"

As soon as he said it, Jon realized calling the mannequin "her" to the driver was going to come off bizarre. Then again, this entire situation was more than a little bizarre already. The driver looked across the parking lot and called back, "What for?"

"I can't fit it in the car with the pole."

Jon wished he hadn't been in the driver's line of sight so he could immediately apologize for calling his damsel in distress "it." He wasn't sure how much she knew about these things, if she was aware enough yet to be upset by this, but it still made him feel disgusting. Luckily, the driver rolled his eyes and walked over to the car.

Meanwhile, Jon grabbed a small toolbox from his backseat and chose a wrench from it. His original plan had been to free her from the pole inside the store and go from there, so he already had the necessary tool. He knew there were two jobs at hand: unscrewing the washer and holding up the mannequin. Jon hoped the driver would accept the job of unscrewing. He didn't want one more person who didn't know she was alive grabbing her. "Can you unscrew the washer while I hold it?"

"Whatever," said the other man, grabbing the wrench and starting to work at the washer.

Jon quickly held onto the mannequin around her waist, preparing for when she was freed from the metal pole. The moment he saw the pin slide out of the base of her neck, her hand jolted down, as if trying to press into him. Jon's eyes darted. Shit! Did the driver notice?

Thankfully, he was none the wiser. Tossing the wrench into the open backseat, the other man gave Jon and the mannequin a once over. "You know that thing doesn't have a pussy, right?"

Jon had never wanted to punch anyone more in his life. Objectively, he knew the man had no idea he was referring to a sapient creature, but it was still nauseating and infuriating to hear. Knowing he had no possible response to that rhetorical question, Jon moved the mannequin over to the passenger's seat and leaned her into the car.

Her joints seemed to be stiff unless she exerted force against them or an external force moved them, so getting her into a seated position was a challenge. Since the driver was still in the process of getting into his truck and leaving, Jon couldn't risk asking her to help him out. He felt incredibly awkward pushing on her limbs and chest, forcing her body to adjust to the seat. As Jon pushed her calves down, the joints cracked and groaned like never before. Her hand once more pushed against his arm. Did it hurt her? Is that why she had reacted the same way when the pin was removed from her neck? 

Jon ended up not getting her into a fully seated position, both because he knew her body would retain whatever shape it was put into without effort on her part and moving parts of her that rarely moved seemed to cause her pain. He buckled her seatbelt over her, not wanting to imagine what a car crash would do to her delicate plastic body. For a moment, his mind flashed to school safety videos with crash test dummies. He wanted to vomit.

He closed the door, walked around the driver's side, and got in. Jon just hoped no one saw them on the road.


	5. Chapter 5

The mannequin's senses were being overloaded. For starters, they had been effectively crammed into Jon's tiny car. If their legs had hurt when they kicked them lightly in frustration a day ago, they hurt even worse now. Thankfully, the pain only lasted as long as their legs were moving, but it was still all they could do not to spasm so much that the truck driver could see it. 

Now, they were rushing down the road. Their life had been entirely stationary before; day and night, they hung in one place, staring at one area. The most that ever changed were new clothes and new customers walking by. Seeing the road, trees, and houses come at them second after second was overwhelming. The music playing from Jon's radio didn't help matters either. It wasn't especially loud, but it was one more bit of noise to make the experience simply too much.

At least they were going to Jon's house. They'd made it out of Pressley's and out of the truck. They had thought that was it; that they'd be shipped off to another store and they'd never see Jon again. But here he was, right beside them. 

With a creak, they moved their head up and to the left to face him. Jon must've heard, since he flinched at the sound. His eyes were stuck on the road, and his hands clenched the steering wheel in a tight grip. They wished they knew where the paper was so they could point to the 'thank you' square. They weren't sure they remembered which one it was, but they would settle for 'happy' or even 'yes.' Yes, they were safe now. Yes, Jon had found them.

\----------------------

Jon was overwhelmed, but for very different reasons. First and foremost, he was still recovering from thinking his friend was gone forever and having got her back. He had thought he'd be resigned to constantly worrying what had happened to her, how long she'd be stuck modeling clothes until she wore out or fell apart. 

Then, there was what the driver had said to him. "You know it doesn't have a-" Jon couldn't think about it. He was thinking about it, about how disgusting the question was, but he also simultaneously couldn't think about it. A tiny voice of doubt in his mind told him that's the only reason he cared about her; that he really wanted to be the kind of man the driver thought he was. He knew it wasn't true. He hadn't had an impure thought about her since he'd met her, but doubt is a terrible thing. Mostly, he hoped the mannequin was as naïve as he thought she was and wouldn't understand what... that was.

While making a right turn onto his street, he noticed his new friend was staring at him. "Are-Are you OK?"

She moved her left hand up once in his peripheral vision. Then, she continued moving her hand into the shape of a rectangle. "What... what is it?"

Jon watched her hand make a back and forth motion near the middle of where she'd traced the rectangle, as if poking something. "Oh, you want the paper! Just a sec, we're almost home and then I'll get it."

Sure enough, half a minute later, they pulled into the driveway and Jon turned off the ignition. He clicked on the light above the rear view mirror, then groaned as he leaned his torso into the backseat and grabbed the communication tool they'd been using. He held it in front of her, where she promptly pointed at five squares in quick succession: person, talk, I, have, confusion. Jon had some confusion of his own. "I'm sorry, I don't... I don't know what you mean."

She stared at the paper for a moment, then pointed at the squares again more forcefully. Jon could tell it must be frustrating to be so limited in communication. Eventually, he could figure out a better version of the paper with words they'd need to use, but for now, it was challenging to say the least. He thought on what she'd pointed out. "OK, so a person... said you're confused?"

The mannequin shook her arm back and forth to say 'no,' then pointed to a new sequence: I, confusion, person, talk. Jon put his hand on his chin, struggling to interpret. "You're confused... by something the driver said?"

She quickly moved her hand up for 'yes,' moving her other hand to tap against the door in glee. She was getting better at this. Jon was less giddy and more embarrassed. "Do you mean... when he said you don't have... have a...."

She waited for him to finish his sentence, but eventually signaled 'yes' when she realized he wasn't going to. Jon put his head in his hands. What could he possibly say? How could he possibly explain this to a mannequin? Then, the perfect excuse arose in the form of a truly pressing issue: he needed to get back to Pressley's to meet the opening manager before the new day started.

\-------------------

"I'll tell you later, but I have to get back to Pressley's. If I'm not there when the first manager comes in, I might lose my job. I'll bring you inside first."

Once again, they felt Jon's arms around them. It didn't feel quite as comforting as the hugs from before, but it was still calming. He didn't bother straightening their limbs out, which was for the best, considering what it felt like when their legs moved. As they were carried up a few steps to the front door, they gave a quick look at Jon's house. It would seem a house was indeed a much smaller store. Pressley's had to be at least 30 times as big. There were also no glass double-doors like Pressley's. They supposed this made sense if a house wasn't intended to have customers; what would it matter if people looked inside if there was nothing to buy?

Jon whispered to them as they crossed the threshold. "Steven's probably asleep in his room, so we have to be quiet."

They moved their arm up for 'yes' and tried to take in their new surroundings. There were at least a hundred things they'd never seen before filling the few rooms they could see. They'd have to remind Jon to show them what each item was. Quickly enough, however, Jon carried them into another smaller room and closed the door behind them. He awkwardly grabbed a chair from the corner and sat them down in it. As he straightened up and looked down at them, they cautiously moved their legs and hips down slightly so they could sit more evenly in the chair. He winced a little at the horrible squeaking noise it produced.

Kneeling down, Jon asked them, "Does that hurt?"

They lowered their hand once for 'yes.' He frowned. "What can I do?"

The mannequin turned their head down and to the right to face the communication paper laying on his table. Jon nodded knowingly and swiftly leaned over the small room to grab it, then hold it in front of them expectantly. They perused the squares and tried to remember the ones he had taught them. Eventually, they ended up on 'confused/I don't know.' Jon sighed. "I'm sorry."

He sat down on the long, rectangular chair that spanned most of the room: yet another item to ask him about later. Jon put his head in his hands as he sat across from them. "Maybe it was better for you at Pressley's or wherever they were taking you. You didn't have to move there, so you weren't in pain there. Maybe I'm just making things worse for you."

They wished they could frown like Jon could so he could easily see how much they disagreed. Instead, they settled for leaning forward slightly, their body cracking once again, and laying their hand against his knee. He flinched at the sound that clearly meant his friend hurt from the movement. Jon looked them in the eyes for a few moments, then slowly lowered the paper once again. They pointed to I, happy, move. No, that wasn't enough; they pointed again. I, happy, you.

Jon gave the faintest smile. "You're... you're happy you're here?"

Yet again, they longed for a moveable face: to be able to smile. 'Yes,' they motioned. 

"Good.... I'm glad you're here, too," said Jon, his smile growing, then promptly retreating. "Shit, I really have to get back to Pressley's. It'll be maybe five hours or so. I would just go back right before the manager gets there, but I'm afraid someone might come early or notice my car isn't there."

They signaled a 'yes.' They wanted to be with Jon, especially after having just thought they'd lost their only friend, but they understood being at the store at night was his job. They understood the importance of fulfilling your tasks, even though they realized their tasks were, in fact, imagined. They'd never had some sacred duty to model clothing for customers; they were an item. That's why Jon was able to buy them. No, they had to stop thinking about that. They could discuss it when he got back. 

Jon stood up and looked around the room, seemingly overwhelmed. "Well, um... there's a TV, so you can... watch that if you want. Oh, you don't know how to-do you want me to turn it on?"

They didn't have the faintest clue what a TV was, but it was something to experience, so they indicated 'yes.' Jon pressed a button on a small device, causing a black box in the corner to start displaying images. Some of the customers at Pressley's had carried more portable boxes with them that also showed moving images, so they assumed this was something similar. "And don't... please don't let Steven know you're here. Or... I guess just don't let him know you're... alive. I don't know how he would... what he would do if he found out you're alive."

The mannequin didn't suppose this was shocking information, but it still hurt. Was living at Jon's just going to be another way of hiding? Sitting still and waiting for Jon to speak to them until he had to leave again? They knew being at Jon's house was better, it had to be, but it still seemed unfair.

"Maybe try to move your legs or anything else that hurts a little while I'm gone once Steven leaves. Maybe if you move them more often, they'll... loosen up and not hurt. I don't know though. It's up to you, of course."

'Yes, I, do.'

Jon smiled and walked to the bedroom door. "I'll be back as soon as I'm done."

\----------------------

The remainder of Jon's night at Pressley's was spent wholly focused on brainstorming ideas for improving his communication with his new mannequin friend. To begin with, she needed a name.

Well, maybe she didn't need one per se; it's not like he would ever refer to her to another person. At the very least, it would make it easier to get her attention. Plus, Jon had to figure it would give her more of a sense of identity. She wouldn't just be one of several mannequins, but Ann or Christine or whoever she wanted to be. He certainly wouldn't presume to prescribe her a name. She wasn't a dog. Of course, he reasoned, she probably didn't know many people's names, so it couldn't hurt to give her some possibilities. He tapped out ten names he thought sounded good to spitball at her.

Next, Jon tried to find the brand or type of mannequin she was. He thought if he could find out her brand, there might be a forum post somewhere out there about how to keep your mannequin from making squeaking or cracking noises when it was moved. It was a fruitless search, seeing as he had yet to see a brand name stamped on her and mannequins are meant to not stand out by design. For a moment, he considered asking her to look for a barcode or number on her foot or elsewhere, but he quickly decided that was a terrible idea. Jon knew from her reaction to finding out she was the only living mannequin that she considered herself an aberration: a defective item. Asking her to find a serial number printed on her own body would only reinforce that belief. 

Thinking about her body brought him back to her question from when they first got home: what did the driver mean when he said she didn't have a... that?

Jon knew the mannequin didn't understand many, many aspects of life, so naturally, the human body would be one. The driver could've used the most clinical word or the most profane word or something in between and she still would have had no idea what he meant. She was just curious what she didn't have. How could Jon begin to explain it? With children and teens, it was simple enough: you have this, some people have that, this is what this does, that is what that does. But his friend didn't have anything and presumably didn't know that anyone had anything. He considered just being vague. "It's a human body part, so obviously you don't have it." But really, that was a cop out. She had some parts that at least resembled body parts: arms, legs, feet, hips, a head. She would probably assume just because what the driver mentioned was a body part didn't necessarily mean she didn't have that. 

And so, Jon spent time writing an abbreviated version of how he could explain her lack of anatomy to her. He certainly hoped no one stole or hacked his phone or they would be incredibly confused. Jon certainly had the next few hours booked.

\-----------------

They really gave TV a shot, but it was just too much information for right now. After spending however long at Pressley's stationary with very little information to be gained, TV provided entirely too much stimulation. Much of it was trying to sell a product or service. The parts in between often involved extremes of emotion: anger, laughter, despair, fear. The situations that caused these emotions were also largely incomprehensible. They understood some of the dialogue that mentioned clothing or making purchases, but the rest was hard to follow. 

Was this world, the world of moving ones-no, humans-one they could live in? They certainly understood that they couldn't actively live in it; that they couldn't get a house or job or have a family. But even barring that, was this a world they could even understand? What they heard on TV about romantic relationships and familial relationships and politics and music and so many other things seemed like it would take eons to have explained to them. Could they reasonably expect Jon to teach them about every aspect of human society? These things were mentioned so casually on TV, it seemed like they must be engrained in each person from birth. Were these even concepts that could be taught?

They considered trying to turn off the TV by pressing the button Jon had, but they feared they might do it wrong and break it somehow. Plus, what if Steven had heard the TV was on, then suddenly turned off, and Jon obviously wasn't there? They decided not to draw suspicion and left it on. Instead, they decided to take inventory of their goals in this new, post-Pressley's world.

Well, since they were alive, just as humans were and apparently all other mannequins weren't, they figured they should aim to become more like a human. Physically... there didn't seem to be much chance of that. They didn't know much about what exactly humans were made of, but, then again, they were equally clueless about what they themselves were made of. All they knew is humans were made of flesh, which seemed to be more easily damaged than their own plastic and at least partially metal body. They had seen a few employees and customers at Pressley's with cuts and bruises. Humans could apparently also have whole limbs removed after injury and still live. They knew some humans replaced their amputated limbs with ones made of materials similar to their mannequin body. It seemed unlikely the reverse could happen; that they could be provided fleshy arms or legs to replace their mostly unfeeling ones.

What they could at least attempt was to make it easier for their body to move. They heard Steven move about the house a few hours after Jon left. He spoke to someone on his phone about meeting them at a bar and left shortly after. This gave them some time to practice moving.

They wanted to stand and walk, but they realized this was too lofty of a goal for now. As it stood, moving any joints from the hips and lower hurt them enough that even standing seemed impossible. If Jon's suggestion of using those joints more caused them to stop hurting, they'd need to do that first. And so, they started with their right leg, moving it up at the knee until it was horizontal. 

Oh, if only they could scream!

It was just on this side of excruciating. Just below the level at which they'd stop altogether and resign themselves to only ever moving their arms. They brought their leg back down at the same speed as before, this time rapping their arm against the chair to help take away the sharpest edges of the pain. It didn't help much, but it felt productive. They paused, trying to decide just how many times they could do this with the same level of intense pain before resigning themselves to their stationary fate. Well, they'd might as well try at least a few more times.

Sure enough, after four sets of leg raises, their right leg hurt perhaps half as much as when they'd started this painful endeavor. It was still incredibly unpleasant, but doable and, even better, much quieter. Their knee joint barely made a noise at this point. They were ecstatic! This meant, with enough work, they could eventually move with little to no pain. They may even be able to stand, to walk!


	6. Chapter 6

Jon breathed a sigh of relief when the opening manager told him Pressley's would no longer need his employer's security services. They seemingly hadn't realized their own employees were the ones pilfering merchandise, but simply figured the cost of having Jon patrol the premises at night wasn't worth whatever was being stolen. It was a relief because it meant not spending another moment in that store.

He knew it was ridiculous, but Jon felt skeevy being at Pressley's after knowing his newly acquired mannequin had lived there for an indeterminate amount of time. It was as if the department store had somehow known they were harboring and essentially imprisoning a living being. Of course, they didn't know that; Jon knew they didn't know that. But it still felt like he was working for his friend's captor.

When he opened his front door, Jon dropped his car keys on the coffee table and surveyed the living room/kitchen/dining room of the small house. He was glad everything seemed to be in the right place. It's not that he thought his friend would wreck the place, but considering this was a new environment for her, that she suddenly could move around however she wished, he thought there was at least a chance she would've opened every cabinet door and turned on every appliance in the house in sheer fascination. Mercifully, his bedroom door was still closed, meaning she must still be where he left her.

Jon had noticed Steven's car wasn't in the driveway, so he knew he was safe to speak freely around her. He decided to announce his presence before entering his room. If she thought he was Steven, she'd be understandably terrified if she was in the middle of moving. "It's me: Jon!" he said, opening the door.

Turning to the left, he was shocked to find the mannequin standing up with one hand propping her up against the back of the chair he had left her on. He gasped and took a step back, surprised that she was able to stand. Naturally, his shock shocked her enough to cause her to stumble. As she wasn't quite agile enough to right herself, she was sent falling back onto the bed. Jon rushed over and put his hand on her shoulder. "Shit! I'm sorry! Are you OK?"

She nodded silently. Wait, silently? Jon's eyes grew large. "Your head didn't make that... noise like it normally does. Did you practice moving while I was gone?"

Once again, she nodded, though more quickly this time. Jon could tell she was happy to be able to communicate more effectively, more humanly. He grinned from ear to ear. "Great! I'm proud of you!"

The mannequin kicked her legs back and forth lightly in glee. She didn't have any vocal ways of expressing her excitement or even facial expressions, so her little kicks would have to do. 

\---------------------

Jon was proud of them! They couldn't believe it! A few days ago, they'd resigned themselves to hanging in a department store for years to come and now they were learning to stand and had a friend who was glad to see their progress. Maybe they didn't need to fear about living in the human world. They had Jon to encourage them and help them learn. Maybe that was all they needed.

They told their hip joint to pivot them up into a sitting position, but they only got so far before their body stopped. Oh, no! Were their hopes going to be dashed that quickly? They kept pushing, but nothing happened. Jon noticed and put his hand on their back, pushing. "Put your hands on the bed to help push yourself up. It makes it easier."

Doing just that brought them the rest of the way up. They turned their head down and left, then up again to face Jon. As much progress as they made with their body's mobility, it seemed turning their head just left or right was still impossible. They looked down at the paper and tapped 'thanks' with the pen in their hand. "You're welcome!" Jon replied.

Now, it was on to more pressing issues; to learn about the world. First, they needed to find out what this thing was the driver said they didn't have: a pussy. 'Person, talk, I, no, have. I, confused."

Jon's smile was quickly replaced with bulging eyes and an open mouth. He looked at the floor and wrung his hands. What did they say? He'd told them he'd talk about it later. Well, now was later. They needed to know what they didn't have. Maybe they could get it to help fit in better with humanity. After ten seconds of silence from Jon, they waved their hand to get his attention, then directed him to the paper. They pointed at 'please.'

Jon sighed and turned toward them, still not looking at them directly. "So when that guy said you don't have a... a pussy... you see, it's a-a body part. Do you know how b-babies are made?"

They moved their hand up and down for 'no.' They'd never considered where babies came from. They had assumed all humans simply existed as they were. Did babies have to be created somehow? Jon tried looking them in the eyes for a moment, but quickly gave up. His face turned bright red. "OK, so simplifying it a whole lot and ignoring a bunch of other scenarios, when a man and woman love each other, if they want to have a baby, they... they get together and the woman becomes pregnant. In nine months, the baby comes out of... that. The word he used is... it's not really the word you should use most of the time. The polite word for it is 'vagina.'"

Jon's explanation left quite a lot to be desired. What did he mean by 'get together'? If a man and woman loved each other and were just near each other, could the woman get pregnant unintentionally? That sounded very inconvenient. They also still didn't have any idea of what a vagina looked like or where it was. 'I, no, have, it.'

He wasn't blushing as much as before and looked almost sad. "No... no, you don't."

They looked back at the paper, trying to find the right word. Jon had only been able to go over some of the words before and it was easy to forget a square's meaning if there wasn't an obvious image inside it. They ended up pointing at 'when.' Jon's eyebrows furrowed. "'When?' I don't understand...."

Maybe the paper wasn't foolproof. They smacked their hand on the sheet below them. Jon pointed his finger in recognition. "Oh, do you mean 'where'? Like 'where is... it?'"

They nodded as vigorously as they could. Jon pointed at a nearby square. "Just for the future, this one's 'where.' Um, yeah, so if you had a... a vagina, it'd be here."

Jon waved his hand over their hips, keeping them several inches above their body. Something occurred to them. 'You, have, it.'

"You're asking if I have one? No, I'm a man-actually, sorry, that's simplifying things too much. I'll say most men don't have one. Some do. The opposite for women: most women have one and some don't. But yeah, back to your original question: no, I don't."

That still didn't explain the driver stating they didn't have a vagina to Jon. They weren't wearing any clothing at that time and still weren't; the two humans clearly would have known they didn't have one. 'Why, person, talk.'

Jon tilted his head, clearly trying to interpret their meaning. "I'm sorry, I don't-"

They tried not to get frustrated. 'Why, person, talk, I, no, have, it.'

"You mean, why did he tell me you didn't have one?"

They nodded. Jon somehow blushed an even brighter red than before. "So vaginas aren't just for having babies. They can... feel really good to the person with it and to another person to put... put their penis into it. That's what most men have. To convince the driver I wanted to... to buy you, I had to make him think I wanted to... use you. There are some people who really like... putting those body parts on or in... um... dolls. Some companies make dolls with vaginas for people who like that. So he was confused about why I wanted to buy you for that if you didn't have... a vagina."

It seemed like Jon was being intentionally vague or leaving out some information, but they figured it was to make all of this easier for them to understand. This was entirely new territory. The mention of their purchase, of Jon acquiring them, brought a horrifying thought to their mind. They hoped they could somehow convey the question in their limited words. 'Person, is, yes.'

Jon mouthed the words, trying to parse them out. 'You, like,' they pointed out, followed by a gesture to their own body. Jon gasped desperately and waved his hands back and forth. "No! No, I don't want to-that's not why I b-bought you! Ugh, every part of this sounds terrible! Cuz I didn't buy you! I don't own you. You can do whatever. But, no, he didn't assume right. I paid him off because-"

He looked them in the eyes finally, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "I like you. I want you to be safe and happy. I care about you as a woman."

\------------------

The mannequin pointed to a word Jon wasn't expecting: 'what.'

"'What?' I don't... do you not believe me?"

'I, no, is, person.'

Jon shook his head furiously. She thought he didn't see her as a person? Shit! Where did he mess this up? "You are a person! You're alive and-"

She started pointing at the paper again: 'No, you, talk, I, is.' The mannequin held the pen on her hand back, as if not sure what word to use. She settled on 'it.'

"When you say 'it,' do you mean... 'woman'?"

'Yes, you, talk, I, is, it, I, no, is, it.'

Jon's mouth hung open. Was she saying she didn't see herself as a woman? Was sh-no, not she. Was he saying he was trans? "Are you a man?"

'No.'

To say Jon was confused by this response was an understatement. What did... she or he or who knows at this point, mean by not being a woman or man? Those were the options. True, this was a mannequin, not a human, but this was still a soul as alive as any human. They had to be a man or a woman. "Then, what are you?"

The mannequin pointed at themselves. Jon blinked slowly. "You're... you?"

'Yes,' they nodded.

"OK... I mean, I guess it makes sense. Cuz you're... you don't have... those parts and you're not a human, so it makes sense that you wouldn't see yourself as a woman or a man. That's... that's fine."

Something about his friend's gender seemed odd to Jon. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why their view of themselves was so unnerving to him, but it was. He just needed some time, he supposed.

Now then, it was time for what he'd been looking forward to since his work at Pressley's earlier. "Oh, that's the other thing I wanted to bring up. I think you should have a name."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make it clear that at this point, Jon is unaware of non-binary genders being a thing. Since these are written from either Jon or the mannequin's point of view, since he isn't aware of the concept of being non-binary, that's why that's written that way. It's not much of a spoiler to say he will figure out more about that & be entirely accepting of it, not just as a "natural" way a living mannequin would be, but as a valid way for a person to be.


	7. Chapter 7

A name? The idea that they could have a name, that someone would be referring to them enough that they would need a name, was completely foreign to them. A name would mean they were a living being, capable of their own decisions. But then, there was a snag in that. They weren't quite sure how to communicate this through the squares, but they had to try. 'You, have, I.'

Jon frowned. "I have you?"

They really needed to get a bigger piece of paper with more squares. 'You, talk, you, no, have, I.' They paused, then continued, "You, have, I.'

Jon stood up and held out his hands as if trying to push away the accusation. "I told you, I don't own you! I... I had to get you out of that truck and the only way to do that was to buy... to buy you."

At this, he rested his head against the wall. They supposed he was right. If Pressley's had only seen them as an item, the only way Jon could acquire that item was to purchase it. "You can go, if you want to. Anywhere at all. If you'd rather be somewhere else, just tell me and I'll bring you there."

For a moment, they appreciated the offer. Jon was willing to bring them wherever they wished when he had no need to. But they realized this offer was a moot point. When Jon turned around to face them, they tapped out: 'Where, can, I, go.'

When his face paled at this question, they continued: 'I, no, can, go.'

\-----------------------

Shit.

What could he say to that? No, there are tons of places for a sapient mannequin to have a good time? There's a retirement home for living dolls just down the road? Jon was the only person who knew about his friend's existence and letting anyone else find out about them was a horrible idea. They had absolutely nowhere else to hide but his bedroom. His offer-however well-meaning- was impossible, which made it sickening. He had dangled freedom in front of them when he had no ability to provide it. 

Jon gently sat down on his bed next to the mannequin, staring at the sheets like they could give him a script to this bizarre situation. "I... I'm sorry. I really am," he answered quietly. "When I... got you from the truck, I didn't really think about what would happen. I just knew I couldn't let you go... wherever they would've brought you. You're alive and you needed to be somewhere where someone knows you're alive. I'm sorry for... for offering to bring you somewhere else, since... you can't."

He finally managed to look into their eyes, knowing they needed to see he was being sincere. "I promise I'm going to help you with anything you want here. If you want to learn to walk or read or draw or anything, I can help you do that. I don't want you to feel like you're just stuck here."

There was a moment's pause with no response from the mannequin. It was just long enough for Jon to think he'd ruined everything and he basically now had a silent hostage. Finally, they responded, 'Thanks.'

Jon smiled slightly. "You're welcome.... Now then, a name!"

Pulling up the notes on his phone, Jon scrolled down the names he'd found. "OK, so I thought of some names I've heard that I like, though obviously, it's your name, so it's up to you. Let's see, there's... Amber, Jenny, Mara, Luc-"

Naturally, at the time, Jon had simply thought of pleasant-sounding women's names for his friend; however, after their revelation that they were neither a woman nor a man, it occurred to him that they may not want any of these names. "Oh, um, so I had thought you were a woman, so I only came up with women's names. Do you want a woman's name or a man's name? Or there are some that could go either way?"

The mannequin didn't react for a few moments. Jon assumed they were considering their options. Finally, they cautiously pointed to 'I don't know/confused.'

OK, so what could he do now? Jon certainly couldn't just pick a name and decree that's what they would go with. This was their choice. They weren't able to make that many decisions in their life at the moment, but this was one decision they could have. "Well..., I could tell you some men's names and other unisex names and see what you like. Um... there's Matthew, Kelly, David, Marcus, um... Chris-"

They pointed at Jon. "What?" he replied. Again, the mannequin pointed their pen-wielding hand at his side.

"Wait... do you mean you want MY name?"

They nodded. Jon chuckled and put his head in his hands. 

\-------------------

They had never wished they could sigh more than right now. What was so funny? Jon's name seemed to serve him just fine. He was the only person whose name they knew. Sure, he had just rattled off several others, but they were new. Maybe those names had different connotations to them. They waited until Jon was done laughing and was looking closer to the paper to point to 'what.'

Jon's smile faded slightly, and he cleared his throat. "I mean, obviously there's nothing wrong with the name 'Jon.' Of course, I'm fine with it. But it might be confusing for both of us to be called Jon."

He didn't seem to understand something. 'You, talk, me.' They paused for a moment: their only way of indicating a new sentence. 'What, person, talk, me.'

"I guess you're right. I'm the only person who'll be talking to you. But think of it this way: say for whatever reason, you want or need to talk to someone else-"

'No,' they tapped hard against the paper. Did Jon seriously think they would ever need to talk to another human? That that would ever be a safe option?

Jon held up his hands. "I'm not saying you're going to. But if it does, it'll be confusing for us both to be called Jon. It'd be hard to tell who they're talking about."

They still thought it was a silly reason to not go with Jon's name, but they admitted that scenario would be challenging. They nodded, causing Jon to smile once again. 

"Right, so what name do you like?"

Jon couldn't be this clueless, right? There were no squares for each name. How could they communicate whether they liked one? Of course, they didn't particularly like any of the names he'd given thus far, but even then, there was still no way to tell Jon that. They opted for pointing at 'I don't know' once again. Jon sighed.

"OK, let's narrow it down a bit cuz there are a million names out there. Um... do you want a gender-neutral name? A name that could be for a man or woman?"

Well, they were neither, so they didn't see how that helped, but they nodded. Maybe if their name could be for both of those genders, it'd still be seen as valid for them. "All right. Let's see there's... Ashley, Jamie, Jordan, Alex, Taylor, Kenne-"

They poked their pen lightly at Jon's side. "Which one?"

Once again, what were they to do? They sat still, hoping Jon would take the hint, which he finally did. "Oh! Sorry. Um, OK, so do you like Ashley..., Jamie..., Jordan..., Alex..., Taylor-"

The mannequin nodded at this last name. "Taylor? You like that name?"

They did. At the moment, they weren't sure why it tickled them any more than the others, but later, they realized why. Back at Pressley's, a customer had asked for a size between a medium and large for a t-shirt. The employee told her they didn't offer such a size, but they could take the shirt to a tailor. As silly as it seemed, having a semi-familiar word assigned to themselves felt comforting. It wasn't some name they'd never heard before that could mean anything. Plus, they were also between identities. They weren't quite a mannequin, but they definitely weren't human. Turning their head up and left, Taylor looked at Jon and nodded.

Jon beamed. "Awesome! You're Taylor!"

It was awesome! Taylor wasn't sure why having a name was so euphoric. They were still the same being they were two minutes ago, but they felt entirely different. They were one step closer to being human; that much less of an item. Taylor decided to do something slightly more human to celebrate.

They knew Jon hugged them to comfort them or express joy, and they wanted to share their excitement at their new name. Taylor awkwardly turned their hips toward Jon, then moved their arms toward him. Jon flinched and looked down at their outstretched hands.

No. He was... scared of them? Taylor's heart sank. They thought they were past this. Sure, they understood Jon being scared of them that first time in Pressley's. They knew they weren't a common sight. But Jon had spoken to them, held them, since then. Could he only tolerate touching them when he was the one initiating the touch? Was Taylor too much like a thing for him to stand them holding him? They froze.

Jon looked from Taylor's hands to their face, then back to their hands. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.... It's just-"

His mouth gaped as he quickly stood up and opened the door. He nearly closed it, then turned to Taylor for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, then closed the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Fuck!

Why did he have to flinch? Taylor was only trying to hug him. Intellectually, Jon knew that. But seeing a mannequin reach their hands at him, grabbing at him, set off his fight or flight response. He understood that this was Taylor, his friend, someone who had no reason at all to hurt him and probably couldn't even if they wanted to. But Jon's brain told him to flinch at the odd sight in front of him and so he did.

Jon sat at the small kitchen table, his head in his hands, trying to process exactly what he thought and felt about Taylor. How could he explain his fearful reaction to their reaching out to hug him in a remotely kind way? Sorry, you just look like an enemy in a horror game? I didn't mean to flinch, but you shouldn't be alive, so that's a little freaky? 

\---------------------

Taylor was as good as dead.

They were in the same position they had been in when Jon left them: face turned toward the closed door, arms outstretched to where Jon had sat. There wasn't much point in moving, considering Taylor's body simply held whatever position it reached without any effort on their part. 

As they stared at the door and listened to the silence of the tiny house, they were reminded of how very inhuman they were. When Jon was in the room, there was sound: his voice, his breathing. Now there was nothing. Taylor didn't speak, didn't breathe, had no heartbeat to pulse in their ears. They could stay perfectly still indefinitely in positions that would take conscious effort from humans. They had no need to move to stay alive. 

Was that what had scared Jon? He had been shocked when he first walked into the room and found Taylor standing. Would any more human motion from them terrify him? Taylor had thought after that first night when they'd first revealed themselves, Jon would just accept them. Apparently, they still weren't human enough for him to tolerate. They were just an errant item: a moving thing that shouldn't be able to move. Taylor had moved before with no issue when they tapped out words on the paper. How was that different from a hug?

Then, it hit them. A hug was personal. It conveyed love and happiness and comfort. Some items could move, like the toy robot at Pressley's. They could make simple motions, just like their pointing to words on a paper. But an embrace? That was for humans only.

Taylor briefly considered getting up and opening the door to try to explain themselves as much as possible through the paper; to beg forgiveness for trying and failing to act like a human. They quickly realized even if they could manage to stand up again, they hadn't walked yet. For all they knew, they would just end up falling against the door and scaring Jon even more. Plus, the door seemed to open by turning a metal knob. Taylor's useless hands wouldn't be able to open it. They were well and truly trapped in this room. That knowledge coupled with Jon's retreat brought up a new, terrifying line of questions: what was Jon going to do with them?

They brought their arms down in front of them, staring at their hands. If Jon decided to destroy them, they surely couldn't defend themselves. Sure, they could move a bit more fluidly than when they first tried to move, but they were still slow compared to a human. Taylor was also fairly certain Jon weighed much more than them, considering he carried them out of the truck and into his house without much effort. And supposing they somehow bested Jon and killed or injured him, what then? They knew he had a roommate named Steven. He would just find Jon and a presumably damaged mannequin. Even if Taylor stayed still and Steven didn't put two and two together, they would likely be sold once again or thrown out with anything else Steven or Jon's family didn't want. They knew they couldn't confide in another human.

Then again, maybe it was for the best that Taylor end up destroyed one way or the other. They'd planned on it when they first revealed themselves to Jon. This was just a more roundabout way of ending their strange existence.

The sound of the doorknob turning and the door creaking broke them out of their contemplation. Jon looked at them, his eyes red and watery.

\-------------------------

"Taylor... I'm so sorry!" Jon sat down in the chair he'd originally sat Taylor in and put his head in his hands.

He took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "I didn't mean to... to be scared of you reaching out to me. I mean, I hugged you before, so it's-it's stupid really. I think I'm just getting used to the idea that... well, the idea of you. Like as far as I know, there aren't any other... you're the only mannequin that can move and think and everything. And I know that doesn't mean shit to you because... I mean, you know you're alive! You know you're real, so how I feel about that doesn't matter. But I'm-I'm gonna do my best to see you as a girl."

Taylor moved for the first time since Jon entered the room, moving her hand twice for 'no' since he was facing the wrong way to see the paper. Jon frowned. "What?"

He stood up, and it was Taylor's turn to flinch as they leaned back and pulled their arms closer to their body. Jon held out his hand and felt a tear glide down his cheek. "I'm not gonna hurt you! I'm sorry! I-I just wanted to be able to see the paper better so we could talk. Is that OK?"

They leaned forward again and nodded, looking down to the paper. Jon considered sitting down on the bed with Taylor again, but thought better of it. If they thought he might hurt them, he should only get as close as he needed. Taylor spelled out on the paper, 'I, no, it.'

Jon turned his head. "You're not... it?" He knew Taylor tended to use 'it' to refer to something he'd said that wasn't a square on the paper. He thought back over what he'd said last. Then, it hit him. "Oh, you mean you're not a girl? Shit! I'm sorry. I forgot you said you're not... you know, not a woman or a man. Sorry, that's just... unique. I'll get used to it though. Just like... the other thing."

Taylor simply nodded again, then pointed at Jon's face with their pen hand. "Sorry, what?" he asked as he wiped his eyes. 

They moved their hand toward the one he'd just used to wipe away his tears, then back to his face. "Oh! Do you... not know what tears are? The watery stuff... coming out of my eyes?"

Taylor nodded. Jon chuckled. He knew they had no reason to know what tears were, but it just seemed silly to have to explain. "Well, when people are emotional, sometimes their bodies just... make tears for some reason. Normally, it happens when you're sad, but sometimes it can happen if you're really happy or mad."

They didn't move for a moment, then looked down at the paper and pointed at 'what, you.'

"I was... I was sad. Cuz I-I acted like an asshole and... probably scared you."

'Yes.' Taylor paused, then added, 'you, good.'

Jon shook his head. "Oh, I'm not good yet. I'm trying my best. And-and I want you to know, you don't have to be scared of me. I swear I'm not gonna hurt you! I never would!"

'I,' signed Taylor before pointing to Jon's eyes.

Jon held out his hands again and frowned. "You're sad?! Sorry, shit! What about?"

'No,' Taylor motioned with their hands. Blessedly, he seemed to partially understand. "Oh..., do you mean you're mad?"

'No,' they indicated again, though with slightly more force to show their irritation at not being understood. 'Good.'

Jon breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "Oh, good! You're happy crying!"

Then, he realized the implications of this extended exchange. It had taken a decent amount of time for Taylor to communicate a basic emotion to him. His communication paper was certainly better than nothing at all, but it was necessarily limited. Taylor likely could only remember so many squares, and carrying around a huge piece of paper was impractical. Jon sat down on his bed next to Taylor, figuring they were probably back to enough of a level of trust that he could do so without terrifying them. "So, Taylor, I think it'd be a good idea to find a way for you to show how you're feeling without just using the paper."

'Why?'

"Well, if I'm looking away from you or in another room and you need something, it'd be good for you to have something that makes noise so I could know you needed help or whatever."

Taylor nodded as Jon stood up and began looking around his room. He considered having them tap their pen against his bed's headboard like some kind of Morse code, but figured this wouldn't be that loud and would be subject to misheard taps. Jon didn't have any musical instruments. The idea of buying Taylor a burner phone to call him in case of an emergency occurred to him, but even if Taylor could manage to dial his number using just a pen, they'd have no way of communicating anything over the line. Then, Jon's eyes fell on a box in the corner of his room.

Jon crossed the room and tore the green wrapping paper to reveal a colorful cardboard box. He ripped open the top flap and pulled out a white plastic device with a series of colored buttons toward its bottom. As he returned to Taylor's side, he explained, "This might work. I bought this for my niece's birthday, but I can get her another. It's a toy saxophone."

Taylor looked at the children's toy and reached their penless hand to it cautiously, not quite touching it. "It's OK. You can touch it. These buttons each play a different note."

Here, Jon pressed the red button halfway down the toy, producing a high note. Taylor's outstretched hand flinched slightly, but they were still curious. "So I'm thinking we could give each button a different emotion. Like, maybe the red one means you're scared or the orange one-" Jon pushed said button to emit a slightly lower tone, "means you're angry. Does that make sense?"

After a moment, Taylor nodded. They pointed to 'happy' on the communication paper, then moved their pen to the yellow button, pressing it in. They held the note slightly longer than Jon had played his. He grinned. "Cool! Yeah, so yellow can mean happy."

The two moved down the remaining three buttons, assigning them each an emotion: green for confusion, blue for sadness, and purple for curiosity. Jon figured Taylor could use the purple button to show that what they were saying via the paper was a question rather than a statement. Once they were done, Jon laid back across his bed and sighed. "Good! That'll make things a little easier."

From his side, the yellow tone played a couple times in quick succession. Jon smiled and looked up at Taylor, who was already looking back at him. "You're getting the hang of it!"

\----------------------

Taylor wanted to hold down the yellow button forever in sheer joy. They were safe and, what's more, they now had a much better way of telling Jon how they felt. As happy as they were at the drastically changed circumstances, they figured they shouldn't overuse the new device to avoid annoying Jon. 

From his position on the bed, Jon yawned and stretched one arm to the sky. Taylor had seen humans make a similar noise at Pressley's and never really understood what it meant. They pointed their penned hand to Jon's face and pressed the purple button with their other hand. Jon's eyebrows scrunched up. "What? Oh, yawning? Do you... not know what a yawn is?"

'Yes.'

"It means I'm tired. When people get tired, they just... do that. Not really sure why actually."

At this, Jon pushed himself up slightly with his arms. "Do you sleep at all?"

Yet again, this word meant nothing to Taylor, who pointed to 'what, it.'

Jon smirked. "Well, I guess not then. Like, are you ever just... not aware? As in you don't see or hear anything for a while, then suddenly, it's hours later?"

'No,' they replied, followed by a pause and, 'you' with an accompanying inquisitive purple tone.

"Yeah," Jon responded, looking bashful. "People need to sleep to recharge our bodies. And after... everything last night, I'm pretty tired. But I don't know what you wanna do while... while I'm sleeping."

Taylor found humans very inefficient. They had to do and experience nothing for hours at a time just to function? To be fair, Taylor would have loved having the ability to sleep back when they were at Pressley's, but that was from boredom and a soul-crushing lack of purpose. Jon had a job, family, and interests. Sleeping seemed like it took entirely too much time away from those important activities. Regardless, it seemed to be necessary. 

Jon sighed. "Well, I like to listen to music to help me fall asleep, so you can listen to that while I'm sleeping. And maybe try to think of some things that aren't on the paper that you'd like me to put on there. If you want to, of course."

'Yes,' motioned Taylor. 

Seeing as Jon took up most of his bed, Taylor figured they'd might as well move back to the chair. They pushed off from their seated position on the bed and stood with only a slight wobble. Now came the hard part. Taylor moved their right leg forward and rested half their weight on their flat, plastic foot. After a second of holding that position, just to make sure they didn't topple over, they were confident enough to bring their left leg along with them. Blessedly, this was all Taylor needed to traverse to reach the chair, as Jon's room was quite small. They still had to turn around to sit, which only left them feeling slightly unsteady as they determined where to distribute their weight. Placing their hand against the back of the chair, they managed to turn around and sit down.

When Taylor looked up to Jon, he was staring at them, his mouth wide open. He quickly realized how he looked and shut his mouth. "Sorry! I didn't mean to stare or anything. I just... you did really good! For not having walked before, that was great!"

Taylor wanted to hold down the yellow button to signal their happiness at Jon's compliment, but they'd left the toy saxophone on the bed and couldn't reach it. They opted to kick their legs lightly in what they hoped came across as giddiness. Jon's smile showed he read loud and clear. He yawned immediately after. "I'll put on some music. Oh, and Steven will probably come home while I'm asleep, but he shouldn't come in here, so you'll be fine. If you need anything, just grab the saxophone or poke me. OK?"

'Yes,' said Taylor, who followed it up with a quick wave. After all, Jon was more or less leaving them for a while.

Jon snorted and waved back, then tapped his phone. An acoustic guitar with a smattering of accompaniment quietly started from a small speaker on Jon's beside table. As Jon closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, Taylor surveyed their surroundings once more and considered how to spend the next hours of their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Sorry! I had a good bit of this written for a while, but Thanksgiving and Christmas, plus boredom took up some writing time. Can't say for certain when I'll get to the next chapter, but I have a lot of the story fleshed out in my head, so it shouldn't be too long.


End file.
